


The Spider and the Fly

by Melibe



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst-Free Falling, Bugs & Insects, Demon Gabriel (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Dom Beelzebub (Good Omens), Formicophilia, Getting Together, He/Him Pronouns For Gabriel (Good Omens), Light Bondage, Other, Penis In Vagina Sex, Porn With Plot, Post-Canon, Public Sex, Sub Gabriel (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Throne Sex, and some feelings, and they're not the main point, but only briefly, the point is that Gabriel is a sex toy and he's Into It, which means flies and spiders show up in the sex scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29710104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melibe/pseuds/Melibe
Summary: Who’s that lounging in my chair?Who’s that casting devious stares in my direction?Mama this surely is a dream . . .A freshly fallen demon sprawls in Lord Beelzebub’s throne. An audience has gathered to see what they’re going to do about it. (“What they do about it” turns out to be exactly what both of them wanted.)
Relationships: Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 32





	The Spider and the Fly

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is brought to you by three things:  
> \- the song “Sex and Candy” by Marcy Playground  
> \- the realization that I’d never written porn featuring Beelzebub’s throne  
> \- my obsession with turning demon!Gabriel into as many animals as possible
> 
> Many thanks to MerenwenNolat for beta reading and tag help; remaining failures are all my own.

“We must inform Lord Beelzebub.”

“That right? Looks to me like you’re headed straight back to your precious files.”

“I’m coping with an infestation of sentient semi-colons! When I said ‘we,’ I meant ‘you,’ Duke. Remember corporate delegatory strategy from the presentation on Demonic Behavior in Humans?”

“Oh bloody Heaven, I missed that one.”

“Well, now you know. So you can deliver the news to their lordship.”

“I’m not going to tell ’em some twat of a demon is sitting on their throne like he owns it. They’ll find out soon enough.”

“ _Some twat of a demon_? You know who he is.”

“I know who ’e _was_.”

* * *

By the time Beelzebub arrives, several dozen demons have gathered to lurk, spy, loiter, and skulk. But the crowd keeps its distance from Beelzebub’s throne, uncertain whether the demon currently occupying it constitutes a genuine threat or is merely, monumentally, stupid.

He leans back in an arrogant sprawl, knees wide apart, feet kicked out in front of him. His black boots are laced in red from toe to knee, like knife wounds criss-crossing his shins. He wears an ash-grey silk shirt that hangs open in a vee nearly to his navel. The salt-and-pepper hair on his chest and abdomen is as good as an arrow, directing attention to the sizeable bulge in his black leather trousers.

It’s an obvious display which Beelzebub has no problem enjoying as they stalk across the floor, considering the unspeakable torments they’re about to inflict on this presumptuous scab. They flick their gaze up to his face—and freeze.

The silver hair has grown shaggy. Stubble covers a chin that was always ethereally smooth. Violet now eclipses the whites of his eyes, creating a metallic sheen, and three more smaller pairs of eyes glint from his temples and forehead. But Beelzebub recognizes him instantly.

They lick their lips and say the name they know they shouldn’t. “Gabriel?”

“No.” The demon lifts his hand. Spiders crawl out of his sleeve to swarm over the throne. “Not anymore.”

* * *

Gabriel pulled out one of the new breathable, adjustable, ergonomic meeting chairs and took his place at the table for the first Archangel review of the quarter. Sandalphon introduced the agenda, and Gabriel immediately tuned out.

This had never happened before the failure of Armageddon. He’d always been so attentive, so alert. He’d followed orders and he’d given them in turn, respecting Heaven’s hierarchy, keeping his eyes ever fixed to the Great Plan.

And then, millenia of careful organization had been scrapped like a bad draft. He would say it all went straight to Hell, but his counterpart downstairs was equally frustrated.

Meanwhile, the other angels dedicated themselves to moving forward. They drew up new blessing schedules, developed a Revised Thwarting Directive, and commenced a millenial review of the Earth Observation program. Gabriel couldn’t care less.

He’d been glad to work when he’d seen the war as his final reward, when Creation had been stamped with an expiration date. But now that it had been upgraded to an indefinite shelf life, what was the point?

“Gabriel, we’re waiting,” said Uriel, tapping her pen.

He blinked. “What for?”

She exchanged a look with Michael. “You said you had something to tell us.”

“Oh, right.” Gabriel pushed back his chair and stood up. “Yeah, I’m done here.”

Uriel frowned. “Of course, we can handle the rest of the agenda without you, but the choirs need to see unified leadership—”

“Great, you guys stay unified. I’m ready for a break from Heaven.”

“A break from—” Michael surged to her feet across from him, eyes blazing. “Like Aziraphale? You want to abandon your holy post and pretend to be human?”

“No, not like Aziraphale,” said Gabriel thoughtfully. “More like Lucifer, I think.”

Michael hadn’t thrown an archangel out of Heaven in six thousand years. She still remembered how.

* * *

Beelzebub stares. “You Fell because you were _bored_?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, at once assertive and self-conscious, like a middle-aged businessman trying to justify why he quit his job and moved to the Bahamas. “Maybe I liked the clothes better down here. Maybe I missed you.”

That last comment does funny things to Beelzebub’s insides, so they ignore it and sneer, “You’re not dressed like a demon. You’re dressed like a slut.”

“There’s a difference?” He drapes one arm over the back of the chair, making his shirt gape even wider. One pink nipple peeks out. Beelzebub is almost overcome with the urge to bite it.

They’re distantly aware that the congregation of demons has grown. Half of Hell must be watching, waiting to see how they handle this. Beelzebub’s actions will either cement or erode their own position, as well as tell everyone where the new demon stands.

They should tear him out of their throne. But _fuck_ , they like the way he looks in it. His spiders have begun to spin a web between the horns, and Beelzebub’s flies are buzzing madly in fear or excitement.

They take a few steps closer and speak in a tone of quiet menace. “What’zz your name?”

“I’ve been considering diabolical appellations!” he exclaims, dropping his provocative pose to lean forward and clasp his hands. Beelzebub can now see both nipples, but his ridiculous enthusiasm is even more distracting. “I’m rather partial to Azazel, or Mammon—”

“Pleazze. You can’t steal another demon’s name.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

Beelzebub paces closer. “Are you azzzking me to name you, demon?”

His eyebrows lift. “Is that a problem?”

“Not for me.” Their voice is low and hungry as their eyes drink him up. They’re hardly obligated to tell him this, but for reasons they can’t articulate they want him to be fully aware of what he’s doing. “It givezz me power over you.”

He smiles. “I don’t mind.”

Beelzebub’s heart thuds eagerly. They step between his knees and reach up to cup his face in their hands, setting one thumb at the corner of his mouth. His stubble is rough against their palms. A small orb-weaver crawls out of his hair and dances over their fingers.

He’s really here. This is really happening. It’s less of a dream come true, and more of a gift they never so much as let themselves hope for.

“Akavish.” Beelzebub speaks the name onto his lips, close enough to kiss, loud enough for the whole room to hear. They tug with their thumb until his lips fall apart, then breathe the name into his open mouth. “Akavish.”

Then they’re kissing him, and they should probably be worried that they don’t remember who started it, but they’re too busy indulging in his dark silky taste, battling with his tongue and shredding their thoughts on the sharp points of his teeth.

His hands settle on their waist, circling and squeezing. He pulls them closer, as though he has any say in what happens next, and that’s enough to snap them out of it.

Beelzebub grips him by the hair and drags his face back from theirs. “Akavish, get off my throne.”

His eyelids flutter and his breath quickens. He moves his hands to the arms of the chair, like he’s going to push himself up, but he just holds on. And grins. “Why don’t you make me?”

“You perfect _brat_ ,” Beelzebub snarls, climbing up to kneel over him, their legs bracketing his, their hands on his shoulders and their head high enough now that he has to look up at them.

Akavish’s two largest eyes shine like jewels, while the other six glitter in the periphery. His smile is blindingly bright. “Oh, Beelzebub, I’ve been—”

“If you wanted to talk about your feelings, you shouldn’t have made a fucking spectacle of yourself,” Beelzebub cuts him off, crushing their mouth to his again. They sink their teeth into his lip even as they wonder with a dizzy thrill if he’s venomous. What would happen if they allowed those fangs to pierce their skin? Later, in private, maybe they’ll experiment.

For now, they need to show Akavish and everyone else exactly who’s in charge. They push his stupid shirt off his shoulders, dragging it down his arms. Their fingers tug and pinch his nipples as their flies swarm over his exposed skin, biting and sucking and lapping according to their varied mouthparts.

Akavish shudders at the stimulation, his whimpers filling the kiss. He clutches Beelzebub’s hips to steady himself, then those large hands begin to roam. He kneads their chest through layers of clothing, finds their nipples hardening under all that fabric, and rubs teasing circles around them with his thumbs. Beelzebub hisses and scratches their nails through his chest hair.

He moves to lift off their sash of office, and they slap his hand away. “No.” Next he tries to open their jacket. “ _No_.” Finally his long dextrous fingers work under their waistcoast to reach the button of their slacks.

“Yes?” he whispers, and Beelzebub gives a curt nod.

Akavish pulls the zipper down, down, and down, much further than it ought to go, a clever little trick of sartorial magic. It gives him plenty of room to maneuver, first rubbing Beelzebub over their underwear until the fabric is soaked through, then working it to one side so his fingers can navigate the tender flesh of their cunt. He draws a wet trail from their clit to their opening and back again.

Beelzebub has to bite back a moan. The point here is to assert dominance, and allowing Akavish to continue in this vein looks too much like weakness. So they grab his hands and place them on the horns at the top of their throne.

“Hold on,” they growl. “Don’t you dare let go.”

“As you wish, Lord,” he answers hoarsely. His spiders converge on his wrists, spinning silk to bind them in place.

Satisfied, Beelzebub trails their fingers down his arms and sides, following the path of red welts left by the bites of their larger flies. They lean into the side of his neck for yet another bite, pulling his skin between their teeth as their hand lands between his legs to squeeze his leather-trapped cock.

Akavish cries out, a wonderfully wounded sound. Beelzebub sucks on his throat a bit longer and squeezes harder, until his moans skirt the edge of discomfort. Then they use both hands to pop the button of his trousers and yank open the fly. With a little help, his cock springs free. Beelzebub sits back on their heels to admire it, long and curved, flushed red and so hard it must hurt.

In a different time and place, they’d like to linger over this part, but here and now they have to attend to business. The business of Hell’s heirarchy, and the business of their own body’s screaming need.

Beelzebub lifts their hips, holding their clothes out of the way with one hand and positioning Akavish’s cock with the other. Then they sink down, burying him to the root in one swift movement.

His shout sounds like it’s punched out of him, so loud it surprises them both. The sensation of finally joining their two bodies is no less overwhelming for Beelzebub, but with a fierce effort they swallow their own moans to focus on riding him hard and fast, staking an incontrovertible claim.

“I’ve changed my mind.” They snap out the words as they snap their hips. “You like my throne so much—I think I’ll keep you here. Tied with your own silk—day after day—awaiting my pleasure.”

Akavish groans, his hips jerking up to meet them. Beelzebub grabs his upper arms and digs their fingers into the bulge of his triceps.

“You like that idea, hunh? Is this what you wanted? Is this why you _fell_?” They slam down on him with each question. His mouth hangs open, lost for words, dribbling incoherent noises.

The throne itself is shaking. Partly from the force of their fucking, and partly from the vibration of one of Beelzebub’s flies, trapped in the spiderweb. Beelzebub observes its struggle with morbid fascination. The wild buzz of its wings fighting the sticky silk creates a perfect harmony with Akavish’s desperate cries as they take him deep inside them.

Beelzebub is getting sweaty, and starting to wish they’d let Akavish undress them. But they didn’t get to be Prince of Hell without learning a thing or two about authoritative body language, and nothing says _I’m in charge_ like fucking while fully clothed.

“You came here to be my toy, didn’t you,” they snarl, loud enough for everyone to hear, but mostly for the joy of watching all eight of Akavish’s eyes open even wider.

He’s so turned on it’s intoxicating. Beelzebub is wondering what else they can say to drive him out of his mind, when he gasps, “Don’t think—just because my hands are tied—I can’t touch you.”

One spider, then another, then dozens more climb from Akavish’s body to Beelzebub’s, and venture under their clothes. Beelzebub is startled into stillness, feeling themselves suddenly covered in intimate eight-legged caresses that stroke and rub all the right places. It ratchets their already keen arousal to a level they hardly knew was possible.

Maybe they should punish Akavish for this subversive behavior, but it feels fantastic, and all they want is more. They begin to move their hips again, rocking so the head of his cock strikes the most sensitive spot within them. After that, it only takes a few minutes.

Beelzebub is silent when they come, head thrown back, chest heaving, hands fisted in Akavish’s shirt. The pleasure rolls through and through them, and they ride it out, grinding down on his lap, making it last.

Then Akavish’s moans are cresting too. Before Beelzebub can say anything, they feel him spill inside them, their name on his lips, his whole body trembling. They lift off and watch the last few helpless pulses of come spurt from his twitching cock.

“I didn’t tell you to do that,” they growl.

Akavish laughs weakly, leaning into their shoulder to catch his breath. “You didn’t tell me not to.”

“If you’re going to talk back, I can have that pretty mouth sewn up with silk. Your little friendzz seem very accommodating.”

They feel him panting hotly through their collar. He shakes his head. “I’ll be good.”

“Not good,” they remind him, yanking on his hair with both hands to tilt his face up. “You’re a demon. You can’t be good. But you can be mine.”

He bites his own lip and _whines_. It’s clear he wants this every bit as intensely as Beelzebub does. It’s all they can do to drag themselves away. They’d like to kiss him, but if they start that again they could be at it for hours, and first they have an important message for the onlookers.

So they slide to the floor, fasten their slacks, straighten their jacket, and smooth their sash. Their flies rejoin them in a buzzing cloud, including the one that finally freed itself, leaving the web in tatters.

With a careless snap of their fingers, Akavish’s bootlaces tie themselves around the legs of the throne. His spiders swarm to his knees and ankles to add their silk to the binding.

“You just sit there and look pretty,” says Beelzebub. “That’s what you’re best at, isn’t it? That’s what you want. To be a beautiful empty head, nothing to do, nothing to think about, just waiting to be uzzed again.”

Akavish doesn’t answer, but he looks so fucking grateful they could eat him alive. They stand back to take in the picture he makes, bound hand and foot to their throne, his shirt and trousers gaping open, his skin bruised and bitten, his softening cock shiny with their mingled essence.

Beelzebub reaches out and flicks it cruelly with one fingertip. “That’s mine. Don’t touch it until I come back.”

They’re talking to Akavish, but they pitch their voice to ring around the room. Dense as most of Hell’s denizens can be, they should be able to understand a simple _look-don’t-touch_. Beelzebub does not share their toys.

“Come back soon.” Despite how wrecked he is, Akavish manages to lean back and _flex_.

Beelzebub scowls. “I’ll come back when I damn well feel like it.”

Akavish closes all of his eyes, smiles, and whispers, “ _Very_ soon, then.”

* * *

“He’s been on that bloody throne for days.”

“And he’ll stay there for decades, if it pleases Lord Beelzebub. They certainly seem to be enjoying themselves.”

“Do they? His spiders _eat_ their flies. I’ve seen it. Watched ‘em coccoon a little buzzer in silk, shoot it up with venom, and suck out all its juices.”

“First, it’s weird that you watched. Second, are you still mad about the time you caught one of their lordship’s flies in 782 B.C.?”

“First, it’s weird that you remember the exact date—”

“I keep _files—_ ”

“Second, damn right I’m mad about it. Spent the next hundred years with my tongue in a bleeding knot.”

“Best hundred years in Hell.”

“Shut up. I’ve had to work for millennia with those little snacks buzzing around, mocking me, and he shows up and chows down?”

“It’s not our place to question their lordship’s whims.”

“I’m not questioning their whims, I’m questioning their competency. If Akavish can catch their flies, maybe _he’s_ the one we should be calling your lordship.”

“Hastur. Did you miss the part where he’s been tied to their throne and fucked stupid for six days?”

* * *

On the seventh day, Beelzebub unbinds him. They cut through the spider silk with their black nails, untie the laces, and ease Akavish out of his seat. With his trembling arm slung over their shoulders, they half-lead, half-carry him to the dark and secret room behind their throne, a place of rest they rarely visit.

They strip Akavish fully naked, and then, for the first time all week, they also undress. There’s a bed here. Both demons collapse onto it.

Some hours later, a noise drags Beelzebub from a deep, dreamless sleep. Dagon is tapping on the door. Beelzebub ignores her for a while, but the tapping grows more insistent, and is joined by dripping. Dagon isn’t above “accidentally” leaking a small sea’s worth of water under the door to get Beelzebub’s attention.

Groaning, they peel themselves off Akavish, grab a shirt from the floor and drop it over their head. Before slipping outside, they glance back at the bed, and notice eight purple glints of light. But Akavish is motionless and breathing heavily. Maybe he sleeps with his eyes open.

Dagon, a consummate professional, doesn’t comment on the grey silk shirt swamping Beelzebub’s slight frame. Once the door is closed behind them, she promptly voices her concern. “What if he came down here with ulterior motives?”

Beelzebub stares at her as they brush a web out of their hair. They’ve got bits of spider silk all over, behind their ears, under their nails, and in more intimate places. They like it. Absently, they bring their hand to their mouth and lick off the web, waiting for Dagon to elaborate.

“The demons have gotten used to seeing him on your throne.”

Beelzebub snorts. “With me on top of him.”

“For now, yes. But there are those who think he’s capable of more.” She lowers her voice. “If he wanted to, he could build a following, try to rise up against you.”

Beelzebub smiles. They’ve been considering this possibility ever since they first laid eyes on Akavish, and it makes their heat beat as fast as his kisses do.

“Dagon, I hope he doezzz. I’ve been itching for a new war.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _Akavish_ is the Hebrew word for spider.
> 
> In a fandom that has enthusiastically embraced snake sex, is spider sex a step too far? Please tell me, dear reader


End file.
